Zyren had left with his guards, the heavy double doors swinging shut behind them. The moment the oppressive weight of his presence faded, the tension in the hall became a living, breathing thing—sharp enough to slice through skin. Those who had lingered too long were suddenly reminded of urgent business elsewhere. Chairs scraped against the polished floor as a few vampires rose to their feet, eager to vanish before whatever storm was brewing broke loose.
Lady Vivian, however, did not move with haste. She stood at the far end of the long banquet table, her posture regal yet brimming with lethal intent. Her eyes—dark and glinting with barely restrained fury—were locked on one target. Aria.
Aria, who sat comfortably in her chair, eating as though the hall wasn’t charged with hostility. She speared a tender slice of meat with her fork, her smile as bright as a spring morning, utterly unbothered by the predator across the room.
She no longer needed to pretend. No more feigning weakness. No more playing the sickly human who had been poisoned to win sympathy. She could eat now—freely, greedily—without whispers accusing her of deceit.
Her grin widened when Lady Vivian began to approach, skirts swishing with the deliberate precision of a killer closing in. But the woman’s advance faltered. Several lords shifted toward her, clearly intending to speak. Whatever venom Vivian had been about to spill, she swallowed it down, masking her frustration behind a thin smile. She turned sharply on her heel, shooting Aria a glare sharp enough to pierce bone.
Aria met it with a faint smirk and returned her attention to her plate, carving another bite. Let Vivian stew in her own rage.
A shadow fell across her table.
"You want to become Queen?"
Aria’s gaze lifted lazily. Lord Virelle stood there, his tall, lean form radiating that coiled, restless energy belonging to those gifted with unnatural speed. Beside him was Lord Noctare—pale, unsettling, his eyes faintly translucent in a way that made her skin crawl. Mind control. She didn’t need to be told. There was something about his gaze that felt like a hook sinking into her thoughts, a silent invitation to let him inside.
The rest of the table was less bold. Lord Drehk sat where he was, silent and watchful, his sharp gaze taking in every twitch of muscle and flicker of expression. Lady Lythari, however, was draped over her chair like a silken scarf, all but melting toward Drehk, her beauty weaponized into a slow, sultry assault.
Aria took her time before answering, the temptation to dismiss them entirely tugging at her. But for now, she decided to play along.
"Queen?" She set her fork down, leaning back slightly. "Why would I?" Her tone was almost curious, though her eyes glittered with a sharp edge. "What does that get me that I don’t already have?"
The implication hung in the air like perfume—so long as Zyren stood behind her, she might as well already be queen.
Lord Noctare smiled thinly, and the expression was somehow both empty and cruel. "I suppose humans have no loyalty to their kind. I thought you hated our king—because he killed your family. But I see now that even hatred is temporary."
Aria’s jaw tightened.
"I heard," Noctare continued, voice smooth but venomous, "that he burned your village. That your brother’s blood ran from his throat as he begged for mercy."
Her fork paused halfway to her mouth. That... never happened. But the vivid image—spoken in such detail—twisted something hot and furious in her chest.
Noctare leaned closer, as if confiding a pleasant thought. "If it had been me... I could think of a thousand exquisite ways to end a human life."
Every word was calculated to provoke. Her fingers itched to carve a reminder into his perfect skin, a scar he would never forget. Instead, she chose silence, lifting another piece of meat to her mouth with exaggerated calm. She chewed slowly, savoring the taste, letting the noise of the hall fade into a dull hum.
"I’d watch out, if I were you," Virelle said then, his voice deceptively casual. "There’s a reason every vampire pet before you ended up dead."
"And watch Zyren’s moods," Noctare added, feigning concern. "There’s a reason he’s called the Blood King." His grin returned, sly and poisonous. "He killed his father. The rest of his family? Still rotting in the dungeons."
The words hit her like a splash of ice water. She stared at him, unable to completely hide her shock. Could it be true?
"Watch your tongue, Noctare!" Lord Drehk’s voice cut across the table, cold and sharp. Heads turned toward him. "Speaking on the King’s business."
Noctare didn’t argue. He only smiled as though the reprimand was nothing, his goal already accomplished. He and Virelle exchanged a glance before stepping away, the scrape of their boots fading into the echoing hall.
Aria’s fingers tightened around her fork, but she forced herself to continue eating as though nothing had been said. The lords’ departure left a thinning crowd. Drehk rose soon after, discarding his napkin. Lythari made an ungraceful attempt to cling to his arm, her laugh airy and too sweet, but he shook her off without a glance.
By the door, Rymora stood with her head bowed, hands clasped tightly before her apron. She waited, along with the other servants, for permission to leave.
Her pulse stuttered when Drehk passed by. For a moment, the air seemed to thicken, the memory of his touch rushing back—warm hands against her skin, the weight of his body. She bit her lower lip hard enough to sting, forcing her eyes down. He didn’t even look at her.
And then Lythari was there, trailing her fingers along his sleeve, leaning close enough to whisper something that made her laugh softly. It was the laugh of a woman who wouldn’t mind tangling herself in his sheets.
Rymora’s chest ached with an irrational heaviness. Drehk was a vampire who had lived decades longer than she had been alive. Even strong werewolves couldn’t match that kind of lifespan, and she—she was closer to human in years than either race.
Keep calm, she told herself fiercely. This jealousy was foolish. Just because he’d taken her to bed once didn’t mean she owned him.
I could sleep with someone else too.
The thought rang hollow, doing nothing to ease the weight in her chest as the door shut behind them, leaving her in the quiet echo of their absence.